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[personal profile] masumi_hijiri posting in [community profile] hso2012_r3s2
Summary: A non-Sburb AU: You've just met the girl who has ended your life; You have just said goodbye to the man who ended your life.

Characters: Dad Crocker, Roxy Lalonde, Jane Crocker, Dirk Strider, Rose Lalonde, Dave Strider
Ships: Dad Crocker♥Roxy Lalonde,

Category One:
Tags Present: none
Tags Not Used: none
No other Cat.1 tags apply.

Category Two:
Tags Present: Pedophilia, Character Death
Tags Not Used: none
No other Cat.2 tags apply.

Additional Tags (Optional): Age Gap, Alcohol, Bruises, Physical Violence/Assault, Swearing, Murder

In the Middle: Part 1

When the rocks hit against her window, you don't feel like a boy. You don't feel like the child who waited for his first nameless love to come to the window and give you a smile that seems drowned out in your memory by a face so new.

Your clothes are ripped and your hat has been knocked into the bushes of her yard but you don't care. You wish you did. You wish you could think about anything else. You wish you could think rationally and practically, and you wish you could breathe evenly but you can't.

You grunt as your arm flings another pebble that bounces against the window.

You wonder if you're close to breaking it.

A part of you wouldn't feel sorry because they were the ones who wouldn't let you in the front door, anyway. You shouted and grit your teeth and pleaded with them to understand, but they pushed you away, pushed you outside, and pushed you down further than you ever thought you could sink.

You scream her name.

And she appears almost too suddenly. The bruise under her eye still visible from two stories below, but her smile as bright and beautiful as you remember from the first day you met her.

She leans on the window pane, looking down at you with sad eyes that are beginning the first of many lines that are mirrored on your own features.

She's too young.

"You're causin' quite the ruckus down there."

"Come down."

She shifts on her weight and looks away from you.

"Roxy. Come down. Please." You wonder if she can even hear you because you feel as though your voice is being pinched tighter and tighter. "Please."

She wants to. You know she wants to. So she looks around, scans her room behind her, and scans the yard below her.

"Okay." Her face breaks into an expression so relieved and determined and deciding. You know she's coming down for good. You know she's happy about this. "Okay, darling."

She disappears from the window and you smile.

Your chest feels so light and your eyes are building with pressure because only minutes ago you thought that you would never see her again. You thought she would never even look at you.

You walk down the sidewalk and back around to the front of her house where you know she'll meet you. You hardly even acknowledge when you brush shoulders with another man.


Your hands are rough and weak against your eyes as you rub at them. The sigh that escapes you is replaced by another, and you feel as though that is the only way you can breathe. You shake your head and drink more of your scotch, wishing it would calm you like it calms her.

When you hear the door open to your study you want to flinch and raise your head and be hopeful that you'll see lips that curl like wisps of blonde hair against milky skin.

But you don't because you know it's not her.


You suck in a breath and a smile that will escape you in a sigh later, but you do your best for her. Because that's all you've ever wanted to do. "Jane, dear. I'll be out for dinner in a moment. No need to fret."

"Don't, dad. Okay? It's fine, I know... you're upset. You don't have to go tip-toeing around me."

"I don't?" You give her a look and it's curious and gently sardonic, like a punch line of a terrible joke. She doesn't laugh.

She kneels down so that she can look up at you, her hand placed gently over your own. "You know, I.... I'm never going to be alright with this! It's always going to be strange for me!" She huffs and scratches her head. "Which is something I expect you to understand!"

"I know, dear."

"But... well, I've been very worried about you since Ms. Lalonde called. It's hard not to be! And I may still be having a hard time believing that whatever you and Roxy are... doing is legitimately serious."

"Jane, I know it has been. But please try and real--"

"I'm not done. Don't interrupt me." She rests her forehead on her hand which is still covering yours and lets out a whine. You chuckle and pat her head, remembering when she was five and the boys at school tugged at her long hair. You remember how she wouldn't cry or yell, she would curl in your lap and whine because boys were so frustrating!! And now, even if you're the reason she curls into your lap like the little girl she once was, it's still you that she comes to. "I'll get better about it. Not right now, but... eventually."

You smile down at her even though you know she can't see. The timing is poor but it's the thought that counts.

Jane brings her head up and looks you right in the eye, and it's the first time she's been able to in months. "She was discharged today. She's back at her house. I wasn't supposed to tell you, but, golly, if there's anyone around here who likes breaking the rules, I am certainly not the first person to point the finger at!"

Your insides flutter and you check your watch, even though you know nothing could stop you from leaving this very moment.

You kiss your beautiful daughter on the forehead, place the hat on your head, and leave the house.


You receive the call when you get home from work.

It's Rose.

Roxy's in the hospital.

When you try to formulate a reply she hangs up on you mid-thought.

That night you can't keep down the dinner that Jane makes you.


"Let's run away," she whispers into your neck.

You bring your head up in response.

"C'mooon. You know it'd pretty much be the best thing ever," she pokes at your side. "We could go to Vegas and leave all these shitmonsters behind, yknow?" You can feel her shift as she goes to lay on top of you, her features barely visible in the dark light of your bedroom.

You reach to pet the hair out of her face, giving her a smile and a shake of your head.

"Hey, come on, what do you say?" She asks so delicately. So softly. So desperately. "Will you marry me, Mr. C?"

You can't think of any reasons why you shouldn't.


Days pass by quicker with her. Which is a shame, because you wish every moment you spend with her would last longer than a mere moment. You realize at some point it doesn't matter that Jane won't speak a word to you when she sits down for dinner. It doesn't matter that your mother calls so often to "check in."

It doesn't matter that the book you keep with dirty numbers that you have hand washed yourself for this company are the same that are dirtying up your life, and bringing her down with you.

It doesn't matter that you fear Crocker Corp more than any deity or devil.

But you worry that it matters to her.

You watch her with nervous eyes when she rummages through your mail, her lips pinched together in a line. When her mother or Dave calls her, she never fails to tense her shoulders and roll her widened eyes.

You hold her for hours when Jane refuses to be in the same room as her, and blocks her from every technological contact possible.

You comfort her as much as you can, but how can you do so when she is your sole comfort in this world.

So you do something that you've longed for ever since you sat behind the desk of your mother's company and picked up an accounting book.

You tell the truth.

You tell her you love her.

She assures you that's all the comfort she will ever need.


Her younger form makes you worry how serious this relationship is becoming.

It isn't a matter of hiding behind closet doors when you go to her house for the night, or a matter of her climbing out the window when Jane comes home early.

It's a matter of hiding the indisputable smile that creeps in your eyes whenever you're around her.


You haven't asked out a girl since you were seventeen years old. Your inner guide on how to court a lady has not been updated in the past 20 years, so here you are feeling like a teenager as you stand outside her window and throw pebbles light enough not to break the glass.

When she appears in the window, she can barely hold back the laughter in her eyes as she leans on the pane to look down at you.

"Can I help you, Mr. C?" She asks as if she has no idea what could possibly bring you here. As if she hasn't spent the past few weeks hiding seductive eyes behind a smile.

As if the past few weeks she's invited herself over for dinner have been with an intention of seeing you first and Jane second.

You smile up at her and shake your head and ask her on a date.


You meet her at a party.

She introduces herself by not even waiting for you to extend her hand as she goes to shake it.

The curves in her face are soft and brilliant, while the language she speaks is exciting and foreign.

You spend the majority of the party watching her lips move and letting laughter shake your body.

When you leave you wrap the coat around yourself and crane your neck around to see if she's still watching you.

She is.

Your name escapes you as she winks, and you know that you've just met the girl who has ended your life.

In the Middle: Part 2

You meet him at a party.

Your mother's house is filled to the brim with people with grating smiles and sickening chortles, but when you spot him you lick your lips in an over exaggerated manner and giggle.

"Forget it, Rox. Guy's bad news."

"Yeah, because we're totally the Sunday funnies."

"I'm serious. He's Crocker Corp's personal dry cleaner. No one fuckin' needs to get involved with that."

You roll your eyes and grab a glass of champagne off the tray of a traveling waiter. "Psh, oh please, Dirky. You know I can't resist me a Crocker." You send him a smile as you make your way through the crowd of people, ignoring the toothpick he throws at the back of your head.

When you introduce yourself he keeps his hand at his side and clears his throat every time he talks, but his voice is steady and mature and he laughs at your jokes as if he's humoring you.

He intrigues you, and the warmth that surrounds him keeps you occupied for the rest of the night.

When he leaves you have a buzz in your head that you're not entirely certain the alcohol left behind.


You must be in the 50's. You must be. You have time traveled from the 21st century all the way back to Happy Days and you almost call him out on it, but you feel as though your heart would come out your throat if you even tried to speak at all.

"Ms. Lalonde."

You cover your mouth with your hand and laugh like a child, because you thought maybe if you kept flirting and wining and dining around the Crocker residence you would get a few words to meet him in his room when Janey was away.

That's not how he works.

"I would be honored if you accompanied me to dinner Saturday night." It's funny to hear him whisper and shout at the same time, as if your mother will appear from the caves she's built herself in her "home-office" and chase him off the grass.

But you let your pearly whites shine through as you agree, asking him to wait for just a moment. You sneak out the front entrance and kiss him in your front yard.

It's perfect.


With how romantic he tends to be (holding your hand at dinner while you run your foot up his leg, offering you his jacket when you tease him and offer your own, pouring you wine after you take a small sip from the bottle), you imagine your first time to go as such.

When it ends up that your mother comes home early from work you can't figure out who's mouth to cover, yours or his. So he jumps from your bed, fully awake now when he was just about to doze off moments earlier and hides in your closet.

You talk to your mother through the door when she greets you, and you laugh when you can no longer hear her heels clicking against the hardwood of the hallway.

You open your closet and lean against him and shake with laughter, and he does too.
He pets your hair and you nestle into him further.

You hate him for holding you like a child.

But you don't scold him for not holding you like a lover.


It's Janey's dad. JANEY'S dad. You knew that. You knew that right from the fucking start. You knew that this would never be okay no matter what time, situation, or universe. Because it's Jane.

Jane, your best friend in the entire world, who makes working for Crocker Corp look so harmless, and who makes being friends with you look harmless, too.

The girl who scolded you because your mother never did, and who laughed with you as you both grew because politics were never an issue that mattered.

And you ruin that.

You hold him so close to you and cry without shedding tears when Jane will not look at you.

You tried so hard to convince her that you aren't doing this out of spite or out of resentment or even for a quick fix, because he means something to you.

She says bullshit and she never fucking curses.

You almost call it off. You almost say that this can't ever happen because if she's not okay, you're not okay, and you almost cry into his tie that he has to leave and never ever step near you again.

"I love you, Roxy."

And you cry because you do, too. You hate yourself for letting those be tears of joy.

Jane will have to wait, and that breaks your heart.


The only time his shoulders tense are when you ask him about work.

You don't know why you do, because Dirk has already told you everything. You know every dirty deal he's laundered and every shady purchase he's made.

Just as he knows the name of every man, woman, and politician you've stolen from. So when you lay with him in his bed and breathe in his warmth, you instead ask if he'll come away with you. You ask if he'll take your hand and not look back like you've wanted for so long.

"Don't fool around with this sort of thing, Roxy. It's not decent."

You poke at his side and smile and laugh and play it off as a joke so that he knows that it isn't.

He brushes the hair out of your face.

"Why Vegas?"

You propose to him.

Because he's the only thing you feel you have left. And you curl up against his chest while you wait for him to answer.

"Yes." He kisses the top of your head. "How could I say anything else?"


You're found out.

You're beat half to death by a man with an eye patch who strikes the first blow from behind.

The coward.

You lay in the hospital and stare out the window, hating the feeling of being a warning.


There's screaming downstairs, and you almost don't recognize the voices because Dave never raises his voice.

You hear your name from nearly four different people, and you are going to kick the Striders right up the butt for being so fucking valiant. You don't go downstairs.

They have controlled every aspect of your life thus far. You're not letting them control this, too.

So you decide to wait until you're certain he's home and call him then and tell him to pack his bags, we're going to Vegas, baby.

But you hear soft sounds against your window.

Your heart flutters.

When he asks you so softly, pleads with you to come downstairs, you decide to nix the idea of waiting for the fires to calm and the floods to drain before diving straight back into his arms.

Because you feel safe there.

Comfortable there.

Home there.

You love the smile he gives you when you tell him you're coming downstairs.

You grab your bag, your wallet, but not your keys and head downstairs.

You look around the yard, watching wordlessly as a familiar patched man walks down the street. Your heart drops as you search for him.

Your first instinct is to wonder why he's laying on the sidewalk.

Your second is to scream.


You never want to wear black again. The color sticks to you like shadows you wish you didn't have. Your mother doesn't come to the funeral, nor does Dave, but Dirk is there holding your hand.

You feel as though you've been punched in the stomach, and you gag on each breath that bubbles through your lungs.

You watch as they sink him into the ground, and look up at Jane, her eyes mirroring the red and wet and hopeless.

You run across the grass, almost tripping as your heels dig into the dirt, and throw your weight against her.

She lets you.

Poor timing.

She cries into your shoulder and you sob into hers. You both sink to your knees as you release every tear you had ever wanted to shed near the man you wanted to shed them to.
But only near, and never again will you be anything closer than near.

Your name is Roxy Lalonde, and you have just said goodbye to the man who ended your life.

Date: 2012-08-05 11:35 pm (UTC)
eclecticillustrator: (Default)
From: [personal profile] eclecticillustrator
Oh, goodness. This is a rather sweet kind of melancholy. I admit to not being quite certain of what I was following when I began, but you've done a great job of bringing the pieces together at the right intervals. Very nice.


HSO 2012 Round 3 Sector 2

July 2012

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